


we are what we remember (if we lose our memory, we lose our identity)

by kayteedancer



Series: November Challenge [18]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Kingsman: The Secret Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayteedancer/pseuds/kayteedancer
Summary: It was like she was in the passenger seat, watching this rage-fueledmachinekill people left, right, and center with any object she could get her hands on. And when she couldn’t find anything to use, she’d use her hands instead.Darcy screamed inside her mind as her body continued taking down opponents with trained, nearmilitaryprecision. Training she never remembered receiving, though her body obviously did.





	we are what we remember (if we lose our memory, we lose our identity)

**Author's Note:**

> Just under the wire! Hi everybody! Here’s Day 18 :D The prompt for today was: _”I feel like I can’t breathe_.” So... I didn’t really follow this prompt? I mean, I kind of did because this story contains a panic attack and hyperventilation, but I didn’t use the prompt as dialogue as it was intended to be used... Oops? Sorry not sorry? XD
> 
> I’m back at it with the crossovers though! Have I told you all how much I love crossovers? Because I really do. They’re so much fun! And I just couldn’t resist a fandom-fusion between the MCU and Kingsman. And WinterShock just fit right in ;)
> 
> Massive thanks to all of you that have read, commented, and left kudos!! You are all so amazing and I don’t know how I could complete this challenge without your support <3
> 
> Come say hi over on my tumblr (sleepeatdancedream)! Feel free to leave a prompt or twelve!
> 
> Without further ado, here’s the Day 18 installment. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title is a quote by Erik Pevernagie.

All Darcy could see was _red_. She saw people clawing at each other, attacking each other, and Darcy wanted to _hurt_ them, wanted to _kill_ them. This red haze obscured her vision, tinting everything a bloody scarlet.

Actually, that may have been the blood.

It was like she was in the passenger seat, watching this rage-fueled _machine_ kill people left, right, and center with any object she could get her hands on. And when she couldn’t find anything to use, she’d use her hands instead.

Darcy screamed inside her mind as her body continued taking down opponents with trained, near _military_ precision. Training she never remembered receiving, though her body obviously did.

Suddenly, the red haze disappeared altogether and Darcy’s head _pounded_ as she was unceremoniously thrust back into the driver’s seat of her body.

She looked around as if surfacing from a dream, searching for any survivors. She stood alone in the midst of a sea of bodies, the Tube platform devoid of life where it had once been chock full of people. Darcy looked down at her hands, dripping scarlet and fingers wrapped around someone’s key ring, keys pointing through the gaps like bloody claws.

Her hands began to shake uncontrollably and the keys slipped out of her suddenly numb fingers. Or maybe her whole body was shaking?

Wheezing sobs echoed in the empty platform and Darcy looked around for the source only to once again come face to face with the fact that _everyone_ but her was dead. She had _killed them all_ with training she never remembered receiving and a brutality that _terrified_ her.

Darcy’s head spun as she sobbed, her knees giving out beneath her as she hit the ground hard. Black spots began dancing at the edges of her vision, lungs constricting as she struggled to take in air. It was _her_ fault, _all_ her fault; those people were _dead_ , _oh my god_ , she _killed_ them, they were dead because of _her_ -

Darcy spiraled, trying vainly to suck in air and only succeeding in hyperventilating. Her chest grew tighter and tighter; she clutched at it, trying to banish the panic twisting her chest and stealing the breath from her lungs.

Suddenly, her vision was filled with wild, worried blue eyes. Bucky was here; he had found her. 

She felt Bucky’s hands grasp her face, one hot and one ice cold, as she struggled to slow her breathing. Darcy thought Bucky was saying something but she couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in her ears.

She saw his eyes close as he tilted his forehead against hers, his metal hand leaving her cheek and tugging her hand away from her chest to press it to his own. His shirt was wet (with _blood; oh my god_ he had probably killed so many people, they wouldn’t have stood a chance against the _Winter Soldier_ , not that these people had fared much better with _her_ ) but she could feel his chest rise and fall beneath her palm, could feel the steady beat of his heart. She tried to sync her breathing to his, counting her inhales and exhales and feeling her panic begin to seep out of her slowly.

“Darcy, Darcy, breathe for me, Doll; just breathe,” Bucky repeated over and over again as he breathed deeply, shouldering her weight as she went limp and pliant in his arms. The tears came then, flowing from her eyes in a never-ending stream.

“I killed them, Buck, I _killed_ them,” she babbled, clutching at him as she sobbed. “I don’t know _how_ , I don’t _remember_ how, but it was so easy, like I had been trained for it. But _I don’t remember_ ; how can I be trained to kill and _not remember_?”

Bucky’s grip tightened reflexively as his head snapped toward her, shock and terror written plainly on his features.

“What are you saying, Darcy? What do you mean?” his voice rasped. “You couldn’t have done this, Doll, you’re not trained. You’re _not_.”

Darcy’s head snapped up, wild eyes locking on his. “I did, though. Look around us, Buck! _I did this_! I remember killing these people; I could tell you the way I took most of their lives! But _how can I not remember being trained?!”_

“Ah, that would be my fault, Miss Lewis. Well, not mine personally, but that of my employers,” a smooth, cultured British voice rang out from behind them. In a blink, Bucky had pushed Darcy behind him and pulled a knife from nowhere, leveling it at the man.

Darcy peered around Bucky’s shoulder as she took the man in. He was wearing an exquisitely tailored three piece suit and the fabric did not look much worse for wear though it boasted a few slash marks from knives and some burn marks from what looked to be an explosion of some sort.

She tilted her head to the side slightly as the man moved closer to her and Bucky, revealing a patch of heather grey and white pinstripe just inside where his suit jacket flapped open from a missing button. The man’s suit must once have been a match to that portion of his vest.

It was almost entirely rust red, _blood red_ , now.

Darcy shuddered even as her brain continued cataloguing information about the man: he had two, no three, empty firearm holsters, around six empty knife sheaths strapped to him in various places, and unless she was mistaken there was a blade hidden in his Oxford shoes.

Darcy felt her breath hitch as the information flooded her, stuttering in her chest as panic began to rise up within her again. Bucky turned slightly to keep both her and the man in his field of vision as he extended his metal hand behind him. She grasped it and squeezed, thankful for the lifeline.

“Stop,” the Soldier commanded, Bucky retreating into the unfeeling façade of the Winter Soldier. “Explain yourself.”

The man halted immediately, a sad smile twisting his lips as he looked past the Soldier to Darcy.

“Miss Lewis, my name is Bedivere,” the man explained simply. “I work for an organization named Kingsman. You were selected to take part in trials to replace our agent Percival after his... passing, and as such you were trained to take the job. You made it to the final stage of the trials before you were disqualified. Your memory was wiped as a precaution to protect the secrecy of our organization.”

Darcy felt something slot into place within her, memories flooding her mind’s eye as it all came rushing back to her. Getting recruited after the Destroyer incident, working her ass off to compete with people who had previous military training while she had none, choosing her Beagle puppy (creatively named Bagel), training him, skydiving, the train test; everything flowed past her in a tidal wave of scenes.

She remembered the end of her training with crystal clarity: the opulent interior of Arthur’s office, the gun heavy in her hand, refusing to shot Bagel (even though the gun was full of blanks, _of course she had known_ ), the sneer on the bastard’s face as he disparaged her half-American heritage and dismissed her. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered Merlin’s sorrowful face as he fitted the visor over her head and input the command to wipe her memory.

Darcy shook her head slowly, then faster and faster, hysterical laughter spilling from her lips. She felt Bucky’s metal arm slide around her waist and she leaned into him, unable to stop the hysterics.

“I don’t believe you,” Bucky growled at the man, and Darcy grinned manically into his shoulder.

“You should, Bucky,” she replied. “It’s true. All of it. I _remember_.”


End file.
